The Greater of Two Evils
by Sweet Jelly Hearts
Summary: "Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you're not working for the good guys? This isn't a comic, Jones. Heroes are hard to discern from villains." "I know the difference, Arthur." "We'll see." In which Alfred is an assassin who must learn from the master.
1. Chapter 1

Wandering the alleyways of New York City, there is a man you don't want to meet. Or maybe you do. It really depends on what you're looking for. If you have someone you want to get rid of, he's the man for the job. He doesn't have a set office, so tracking him down can be a bit difficult, but you'll find that his services more than make up for that. He never leaves a trace. He's very careful with his work. Very precise. With him, it all looks like an accident. Maybe the target was suddenly struck by a falling tree limb while on a walk through Central Park. Of course, it's just as possible for them to be out drinking alone one night and never be heard from again. It's all the same.

He's normally found working against organized crime, bringing down leaders and successors for his modest price. Modest because he likes his line of work. It makes him feel like he's doing something for society, like he's the one protecting citizens from the mugging, raping, and drive-by shooting by getting rid of the ones who do it. Even though he's been working like this for three years, there hasn't been much of a decrease in crime, but he still does it. The police force would probably like a young man with such a passion for justice like himself, but with his current track record, he would likely be the one getting locked behind bars for life.

Yes, he likes his job. His freelance job. Different clients every week, and no repeat customers. That's a rule of his. Couldn't have anyone getting too close, now, could he? Nobody even knows his real name.

They just call him America.

Right now, he was on the hunt for a man named Arthur Kirkland. He wasn't on America's list (He has one, you know. It's constantly being updated when when a new organization appears or disappears), so he couldn't be that large of a threat, but his client wanted him dead, so clearly he was trouble. He only armed himself with a knife, thinking this would be an easy job.

How terribly wrong he was.

America caught a glimpse of the messy blonde mop of hair that had just stooped into an alley. _Target sighted._ He didn't run in after him immediately, as that would raise suspicions, especially right now since it was nighttime with only a few others out and about. He was all too aware of the shop security cameras that lined the streets as well. He would have to take a back way into that particular alley. It would take longer, but in the end it would cleaner and more difficult to trace him. He raised the collar on his telltale leather bomber jacket and maneuvered through the labyrinth that was New York City in search of the alleyway Arthur would be in.

His breathing was kept steady despite the plan for the grim deed he was about to do running through his head. America did have a conscience, believe it or not. It was just far suppressed in the back of his mind after three years of killing people. He still got a faint feeling of guilt when he went after someone who looked innocent. This Arthur Kirkland was no exception. Something sick twisted in America's gut as he silently snuck up behind the big-browed man.

Suddenly, Arthur turned around, catching America off-guard. By instinct, he widened his stance and twitched his hand towards the knife hidden in his pocket, but didn't take it out yet. He might not need it.

The feeling in America's stomach intensified when he saw how innocent the man looked in real life. He had deep emerald-colored eyes with tired bags underneath (and, of course, those huge eyebrows that made it so easy for him to be found). His face showed an expression of resignation, and his shoulders were slumped. The two just looked at each other for a moment, before Arthur broke the silence.

"So… You're the famed America I've heard so much about." He smiled. "What's with the hesitation? By all means, I should be dead by now. I'll admit it; you don't look like the type to be in this line of work. How old are you, lad?"

America opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself before any sound got out. "Heh, that's not any of your business, is it?" He took a small step forward; Arthur didn't back down. "I could say the same for you. What could you have possibly done to make someone want you dead?"

"Why do you want to know? It's not that bloody important, is it? I'm not spilling my life story to the man who's going to kill me. Just do it already! What, do you need a reason? Have a soul, do you?"

America didn't answer. This was dragging on for too long He whipped the knife out, brandishing it in front of him. A slight glimmer of fear lit up Arthur's eyes when he saw the weapon. The twisting in his gut came back, but he forced it down.

"This has gone on long enough, hah?" America took another step closer. Arthur still didn't retreat. He reached forward and grabbed Arthur by his left arm, pressing the knife dangerously against the man's neck, creating a slim cut where blood began to bead and run down his throat. He didn't even struggle. America looked Arthur straight in the eye. "Have any last words?"

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "... Yeah... Yeah, I do."

_Click_.

America's breath caught, eyes widening in surprise and terror. Something cold pressed against his left temple, and he knew exactly what it was. He dared to peek out of the corner of his eye to confirm his suspicions.

It was a sleek, black pistol.

'How the hell did he draw that so quietly?' America thought. 'That sneaky son of a—'

"There. That evens the playing field a bit, doesn't it? Though I think I remember a saying... how did it go...?" Arthur grinned smugly. America scowled. "'Never bring a knife to a gun fight?' That sounds about right."

"You bastard!" America spat out. Arthur frowned and tutted at him.

"Ah, ah, ah, I don't think you're in any position for name-calling, America. You're forgetting who has the upper hand here." The grin came back, and Arthur pressed the gun more firmly against America's head. "Now, why don't we let go of that silly little knife, hmm?"

America complied after a moment of hesitation. He reluctantly lowered the knife from his target's throat. He couldn't believe that he'd been so careless as to get in this situation. It was obvious that this man was more dangerous than his appearance let on. He should have come with more than just a knife, but how could he have expected this man of all people to be able to turn the tables on him?

"Drop it."

There was a lonely clatter as the knife hit the ground. Arthur kept smiling.

"Good boy." The armed man kicked the knife far enough away so that America couldn't dive for it. Even if he tried, he would probably end up with a bullet through his head. "I knew you could be civil. We can talk like gentlemen, can't we, Alfred?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know a lot about you, Jones. I know all about your little hero complex. I know your clients, I know your victims, I know your price. You've got quite a high bounty on your head, don't you?"

"Is that why you're here? You just wanted me dead? Why go through the effort of learning everything about me? Why not just kill me now?."

Arthur's grin faded. "I never said I wanted you dead. What made you think that?"

"You've got a gun pointed at my head." Alfred deadpanned. Arthur sighed.

"So I do, but merely in self-defense. I wouldn't have gotten this far if you had slit my throat just then. It seems it was a good thing I brought it. It's pretty useful..." Arthur curled his finger around the trigger and pulled. Alfred flinched as a deafening shot rang through the air. But... nothing else happened. A bullet didn't launch from the gun and lodge itself in the assassin's brain. Alfred stared in confusion.

"... even if it's loaded with blanks." Arthur threw the gun to the ground. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to make a deal."

"Like hell I'll do that!"

"I don't think you would have said that if you were still at gunpoint... I really do think it will benefit all three of us."

Alfred was about to shoot another insult when he froze. "... Did you say three?" he asked, incredulous. "Who else is there?"

Arthur gave him a knowing look. "I think you know who. I suppose if you're called 'America,' then he would be... 'Canada,' am I correct?"

Anger flared up in Alfred's eyes when he realized who Arthur was talking about. "No. I'm not dragging him into this!"

"Ah, but you already have, haven't you?" That smirk was back. Arthur was taking control. But then Alfred wondered if he ever wasn't in control. "You got him involved in your little game of superhero, and now he's paying the price."

"No! That's not true!"

"It is, and you know it! Your poor little brother is suffering because of a mistake on your part."

"Shut up! It's not like you can do anything about it!"

"But I _can_. That's the beauty of this deal, Alfred." Arthur's eyes gleamed with victory. He knew that he'd already won. "Unlike you, I have contacts. I can get your precious Canada the treatment he needs. I can also teach you skills that you, as an assassin, are desperately lacking. Skills that could have prevented this meeting in the first place."

"Sorry, but I'm not looking for a mentor at the moment." Alfred's gaze flickered over to where his knife lay in the alley. If he could just dive for it, he might have a chance...

Arthur sighed and twisted his arm around, releasing himself from Alfred's grip and pinning his hand behind his back in the process. "Honestly, don't even try."

"What do you want?" Alfred growled.

"In exchange for my services… I only ask that you be my partner."

Alfred snickered. "Pfft, sorry dude, I don't swing that way."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, please! I didn't mean it like that!" Arthur corrected. "I meant that I see some potential in you, Jones. You have the makings of a great assassin, but you've never been properly trained, have you? If you let me teach you, we could be a great team, you know. It's not safe or smart to be alone in this type of work."

Alfred didn't say anything for a while. He thought over his situation seriously. His own victim had overpowered him, though he'd figured out by now that he'd been set up. This was dangerous territory he was walking on, even though the pros almost outweighed the cons. With this man, he could get his brother medical attention. He could become better at what he did with training, or so the man claimed. Arthur was right about it being more dangerous alone, too. It seemed like everything about the offer was in his favor. However... There was still the fear of the unknown. Who exactly was this man? Why did he want _him _ of all people? How was he benefiting from this agreement? Everything seemed rather shifty...

But what other options did he have?

"... Fine." Alfred said begrudgingly. "I'll... work with you."

"Excellent." Alfred could hear the smile in his voice.

"You have to keep up your part of the deal, though!"

"But of course," Arthur said, releasing Alfred and turning him around so they were looking at each other. "'Canada' will receive the best medical attention at my disposal. A gentleman never goes back on his word. With that said," He was suddenly very serious and leaned in close to his face to get his point across. "If you fail to uphold your side of this agreement, I will not hesitate to kill you. Do I make myself clear, mister Jones?"

Alfred gulped and nodded. "Crystal... sir."

"Good." Arthur leaned back and extended his hand, smiling. Alfred shook it. "Then I do believe we have a deal. Go home and get some rest. Meet me here tomorrow evening. We'll begin then."

With that, he finally released Alfred, who bolted out of the alley as fast as he could. He forgot his knife, but he didn't care. He sprinted down the sidewalk and didn't look back.

When he finally got home to his beaten up apartment, he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. The carpet was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, since he couldn't take his eyes off of it. His heart raced at a hundred miles a minute, the shock from his encounter finally setting in.

He could have died tonight.

The words echoed in his head. He always told himself that he could die on any assignment, but this was the closest he'd ever gotten to it actually happening.

He could have died. But he didn't. He didn't know if he should thank Arthur for not killing him or hate him for making the threat in the first place. The pity for the man that had once twisted in his gut was long gone, replaced by nervousness, excitement, and fear. So much fear. He never wanted to see that man again, but then it sunk in that he had agreed to meet him the next day. He was breaking his own rule: no repeat clients. Don't get close to anyone. Never let anyone know who you are. But it became clear to Alfred that that wouldn't be the case with Arthur.

They would get to know each other quite well over the years to come, that he was sure of.

And how correct he was.

* * *

**AN: Mwahahaha, I am so sidetracked... This idea would NOT leave me alone, though! I apologize to people still waiting for Vocaloid. That will be the next update, I promise.**

**I'm not sure if I should make this a romance or even continue. The idea is there, but the motivation isn't. We'll just see.**

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a review and let me know if you like it! Constructive criticism!**

**~Jel**


	2. Chapter 2

"You're late."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry."

Arthur clicked his tongue in disapproval, but didn't say anything else regarding Alfred's arrival.

"Follow me."

Alfred had gone to the alley that evening, just like Arthur told him to. He hadn't gotten any sleep that day like the man also told him, though. He was just too nervous and paranoid to sleep. It was about midnight, which he supposed counted as late. Arthur should have been more specific with his time, but Alfred didn't comment on it.

Arthur turned around and walked down the alley a little ways before coming to a fire escape and climbing up. Alfred stared up after him.

"What are you waiting for? Come on, we haven't got all night."

Alfred quickly nodded and climbed up after him. Arthur led him through a window into a dark, tiny apartment. Arthur flipped a switch and turned on the light, relieving the room of darkness. Alfred stared at how it was so much different from his own grungy home. For instance, there weren't mysterious stains on the carpet or couch, and speaking of the couch, it was actually in one piece. The apartment also didn't reek of cigarette smoke or have clothes or trash littering the floor and other surfaces. Everything was rather neat and clean, actually.

The couch was in the middle of the room with a little coffee table in front of it. Behind that was an old TV. There was a little kitchen nestled into one corner with a fridge and a stove with an oven built in, but not much else. There were three doors, one he assumed led into the rest of the complex, one into a bedroom perhaps, and the other into the bathroom. You wouldn't have thought he lived in such nice conditions if you judged by the rough part of town his apartment was in.

"Nice place."

Arthur snorted. "Thanks, I suppose." He ambled around the room for a moment. "There's not much to really show you..." He gestured to the doors. "Bathroom... main hallway... closet... You're only allowed in the bathroom. You enter and leave through the window, and the hall door stays locked, got it?"

Alfred nodded. "Okay... Um, why?"

"Because nobody knows I live here, and I rather like this place, so please don't blow my cover. That also means stay as quiet as possible."

"Oh. Got it..."

"All right then." Arthur went to the kitchen and got out a kettle. "I'm making you some tea. It'll calm your nerves."

Alfred grimaced at the mention of tea. He hated the stuff, but now wasn't the best time to be picky, he supposed. "Okay." He stood and watched as Arthur bustled around the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, putting it on the stove to boil, getting out two mugs and tea bags. After a few minutes, Arthur noticed him staring and looked at him.

"You can sit down, if you want. It'll be done in a bit." Just as he said that, the kettle started its high-pitched whistle, signaling that the water was hot. "See?" He took the kettle off and poured it into the mugs with the tea. He brought them over and set them on the table. "There. Sit down and drink it."

Alfred did as he was told, taking the mug from Arthur and blowing at the steam that curled up from the tea. He took an experimental sip of the bitter liquid and cringed. It hadn't been seeping for too long, so it wasn't that strong yet, but he still despised the taste. Arthur sat down next to him and drank out of his own mug calmly, a smile toying at his lips. Alfred couldn't see how he could stand the stuff, let alone enjoy it. After a few minutes of what Alfred considered to be awkward silence, Arthur put his now empty mug on the coffee table along with Alfred's half-empty one.

"Now, wasn't that nice? Are you going to finish yours?" Alfred shook his head. "Fine." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees. "Before we go any further, I'd like to let you know that your brother is receiving treatment as we speak. I had some friends of mine take him to a doctor after you left. I figured that would be fine, since you probably told him about me last night." Alfred froze in his seat, muttering an "oh shit" under his breath. Arthur rose an eyebrow. "You didn't tell him?"

Alfred fidgeted sheepishly. "Um... no..." he said. "I didn't know you would help him so soon, so... Shit, he's probably freaking out... Stupid me! I should have told him!"

Arthur chuckled quietly. "Yes, you really should have."

"Will he be all right?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine. A bullet wound is nothing the doctor I sent him to can't fix up."

"I hope he's okay..."

~~~Earlier that night...~~~

"Mattie, I'm going out. I'll be back by morning."

Matthew looked up from a magazine. "This late, Al? It's almost midnight... Are you going on another mission?"

"Nah, I'm meeting up with someone." Alfred shrugged on his leather jacket and opened the front door. "Be sure to get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful."

"I will, don't worry about it." And just like that, Alfred was out the door and had locked it behind him. Matthew stared after him for a little bit, then went back to his reading.

He couldn't help but wonder, though... Who would Alfred be meeting this late at night? He usually met with clients during the day, so that couldn't be it. Maybe he really was going on a mission, but why would he lie to him?

Matthew put down his magazine and stared up at the ceiling. Even if Alfred told him not to worry, he still did. All the time. Alfred just didn't seem to be aware of how much danger he was in every time he went out. It made Matthew sick with worry now that he couldn't even help him. Not in his current condition... Just thinking about it made his right thigh throb in pain.

Speaking of which... He looked down at his injury to check for any signs of infection. There were none, but the bandages were starting to let blood through, so they would need changing soon. Sometimes he wished he could see a real doctor. Alfred tried as hard as he could, he really did, but there was only so much he could do without real medical skill. He'd had enough sense to dig the bullet out of his leg and clean the wound. He also tried to sew up the hole, but the stitches were messy and painful. Now, two days later, Matthew was bedridden... er, couch-ridden. He read somewhere that these kinds of injuries could take up to four months to fully heal, and even with the right medical attention, he might never walk again. He couldn't go to a hospital, though. They didn't have any money for that, and even if they did, doctors ask questions, and questions meant their cover could be blown.

Yes, Matthew seemed to be in a hopeless situation. It was either die, or get treatment and be arrested for sure. For some reason, he was leaning towards the latter. At least he wouldn't suffer as much that way.

He was about to drift off into sleep when suddenly he heard voices coming from the hall outside. This wasn't that odd, as his neighbors weren't exactly quiet with their nightly activities, but these voices didn't sound like theirs. There were two different ones; one was a man's, with a German accent, and the other belonged to a woman with an accent he couldn't quite place. It sounded like they were arguing about something, but Matthew couldn't make out what.

They stopped fighting for a second, and Matthew thought that they'd left. But then he heard somebody try to turn the doorknob. Matthew jumped a little bit in fright, wishing he hadn't when pain shot through his leg at the movement. They were trying to get in! But it was okay, because Alfred locked the door behind him-

_Click._

…

Was that the lock? They had a key!

Matthew tried to prop himself up on his arm to get into some sort of defensive position, but it was too late. The door opened, and in walked the two from the hall. A silver-haired man walked in first, dramatically bursting in, followed by a long-haired brunette lady who came in more calmly. Matthew shook in terror. Were they here to kill him? They probably were, but he was in no condition to fight them off!

The man's red (Matthew made a double-take to make sure that no, his eyes were not deceiving him) eyes locked onto Matthew, and he grinned.

"There's our man!" he said, coming closer. "Damn, you're pretty chewed up. Lucky I got here when I did, huh?" Matthew cowered into the couch.

"Wh-who are you? What are you doing here? Why do you have my house key?" The woman rolled her eyes and slapped the man in the back of the head.

"I told you we should have knocked. You scared the poor boy! He probably thinks we want to kill him!"

"He couldn't have gotten up to get the door anyway. Look at his leg! Speaking of which, help me pick him up."

"Fine."

"What?" The two reached down and scooped Matthew off of the couch. He flailed and struggled, each movement sending intense pain through his leg. "Let-let me go!"

"Quit your squirming, you'll make it worse. We're only trying to help." the man said.

"By hurting me!"

"If you would be still, then it wouldn't hurt!"

"How can I be still when you're manhandling me?"

"For Gott's sake, kid, be quiet-"

"Would you two stop! You're behaving like children!" the woman interjected. "Prussia, no more arguing with the patient." The man (Prussia? Seriously?) glowered at her, but didn't say anything else. Then the woman looked at me. "As for you, the sooner you cooperate with us, the sooner we can get that nasty bullet wound healed up." Matthew froze, and the woman smirked. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you."

Matthew stopped moving and let the pair carry him out of the apartment. Everyone, including the doorman, was asleep, and the security guard hadn't shown up for over three months, so nobody saw them. They laid him in the back seat of a car that was parked outside the building. Prussia situated himself in the back with Matthew so that the injured leg was sitting in his lap and the other dangled next to the seat. The woman started driving, and Prussia started poking and prodding at the bandages, going so far as to peel some off.

"Um... Prussia? That's you, right?"

"Hmm?" the albino hummed, not looking up. Matthew took that as a yes and continued.

"What's the catch? For getting my leg fixed, I mean."

"Oh. America arranged something for you. Wasn't that nice of him?" he said with a bit of smugness behind his words. There was something the man wasn't telling him, but he didn't press any further. "You shouldn't worry about it. Be happy you're getting treatment at all, you know?"

"... Yeah..."

There was a moment of silence in the car, interrupted only by the quiet sound of medical tape slowly being removed from soiled bandages.

"Should you really be doing that? Why don't you just wait until I get to the doctor?" Prussia paused his fingers for a millisecond before chuckling and unwrapping another layer of bandage and tossing it into the floor. "What? What's so funny?"

"Kid, I _am_ your doctor."

* * *

**A/N: And this, my pretties, is what's called comic relief XD That role has kinda been dumped on Prussia and Canada. I might be doing every other chapter in Mattie's point of view or something, just to check in on them.**

**Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, there will be PruCan. Nothing like in my last fic, though, probably just implied.**

**The lady is Hungary if you haven't guessed by now.**

**I've no experience with writing crime/action/adventure stuff, so if any of you are good with that, shoot me a PM or leave a review and let me know so I'm not messing the rest of this thing up.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Jel**


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop fretting over Canada. He's in good hands, I promise." Arthur said, taking the mugs into the kitchen. Alfred could do nothing but nod and hope he was telling the truth. "They probably caused quite a scene, though... Prussia was never one for subtlety..." he mumbled thoughtfully. "It probably won't be safe for you to go back, but you were planning on moving soon anyway, right? You switch up your location every few months."

Alfred didn't even bother with acting shocked. This man knew everything about him, from his technique, to his brother, to how often he moved. It made him wonder how long Arthur had really been watching him to know so much.

"How do you know everything about me? Do you have spies working for you?"

"Mmm, no. I've been keeping an eye out for you since you started out three years ago." He came back to the couch and sat down again. "I'm only just now making a move because it was convenient. I doubt you would have listened to me last night had I not known about Canada's little accident a few days ago." Alfred scowled accusingly, and Arthur held up his hands. "I know what you're thinking, and no, I wasn't the one who did it. Back to the topic, though. You can't go back to your apartment. I have space, so you're staying here."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You're bad at staying under the radar, that much is evident by the fact that I could easily find you. By the time I'm done with you, that won't happen anymore, but until then you're staying here. Understood?"

"Sure..." Alfred grumbled. It was odd the way Arthur was being so hospitable, and almost nice, he thought. There hadn't been a single threat on his life, his brother was getting medical treatment, he'd been offered tea (It _had_ calmed him down. It was still nasty though), and even a place to stay. He just couldn't find a downside. But... he had to know why!

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he finally asked. Arthur seemed surprised by his question.

"What do you mean? I'm usually like this, you know." he said, puzzled. "Were you expecting me to keep you at gunpoint throughout our meetings to make you stay? I shouldn't have to do that... unless, of course, you want me to."

Alfred shook his head quickly. "No! I mean, this entire deal seems to be in my favor! It's more than a little weird. What are you getting out of it?"

Arthur let a small frown show. "You'll find out in due time. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

His face told a different story, though. Uncertainty passed over his expression, if only for a second, and Alfred wondered if he really was as sure of himself as he let on.

Alfred crossed his arms and huffed. "I feel like a pawn in your stupid game."

Arthur brightened up a little bit at Alfred's comment and smiled softly. "It seems we're all pawns at some point."

The two were quiet for a bit before Alfred sighed.

"So, where do I sleep?"

Arthur patted the couch. "It's a pullout bed," he said, getting up. Alfred stood, too, and watched him take the cushions off and toss them to the side, revealing the bed part of the couch. The hinges creaked as he lifted the frame from its folded position and set it out straight, already fully made with sheets and a quilt. "I usually sleep here, but I've got no problem with sharing. Do you?"

"No, it's fine."

"Good, because it's either that or the floor."

"I had a feeling you'd say that…"

Arthur smirked and went over to the closet door, digging a pair of keys out of his pocket on the way. Curious, Alfred stared as the man unlocked the closet and withdrew a pair of pillows from the top shelf and closed the door, but not before Alfred got a glimpse of what else was in there.

Weapons. Shelves and racks full of guns, knives, and ammunition. Alfred couldn't say he was surprised; he has a similar stash at his own apartment, but- holy shit, was that a _sword?_

"You keep your linens and weapons in the same closet?" Alfred asked incredulously. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I don't exactly have an excess of storage space, in case you haven't noticed." he said as he relocked the closet door. "This is why you're not allowed in the closet. Can't have you messing with my sheets. I won't tolerate it. Also, no smoking." he added as an afterthought. "Nasty habit, that is."

"You're insane."

"I probably am." Arthur shrugged and arranged the pillows at the top of the bed. "But that's what makes a good killer, don't you think?"

Alfred didn't say anything. He was starting to feel tired. The past day had finally caught up with him it seemed. That tea Arthur gave him didn't seem to help him stay awake, but didn't tea usually have caffeine?

"What did you put in that tea, Arthur?" he asked, sitting down and getting groggier and more relaxed by the second. "Isn't that stuff supposed to wake you up?"

"Not at all. I did tell you it would help you calm down, didn't I? It's something called chamomile. Naturally caffeine free. It has very relaxing effects, hm?"

"You drugged me." Alfred grumbled, letting himself fall back onto the bed.

"I did no such thing. I drank the same stuff. Actually, I had more than you. You're just tired. Get some sleep and you'll feel better in the morning."

"Like hell I will..." Even as he said that, though, he closed his eyes and his breathing evened out. "Dammit..." he mumbled quietly as he fell into a deep slumber.

Arthur stood there for a moment, just to make sure he was really asleep. Then, he went back to the closet and got out an old backpack. He grabbed a pistol lying on one of the shelves, slipping it into the bag just in case. Once again he locked the closet, swinging the bag over his shoulder, and crept out through the window, closing it behind him. He silently climbed down the fire escape like he had done countless times before, landing perfectly in his alley when he made the final jump to the ground. He rose up and looked out to the left. The street was deserted, save for one car that drove by slowly. The back passenger window rolled down, and a familiar head of white hair nodded at him before the window rolled back up, and the car sped off.

_Good, they got Canada, _he thought. He walked out of the alley and into the general direction of Alfred's house.

Time for a self-assigned mission.

* * *

**A/N: Short chapter is short because I'm no good a changing points of view in the same chapter, as you may have guessed from last time.**

**Next time we check up on Mattie and his crazy doctor. If you want an idea of what kind of doctor Prussia is, I suggest you look up Arkham Insanity on Deviantart and read her doujinshi, "Saving Germany." He's not that incompetent, though, I assure you. I'm just aiming for that sort of attitude. Mattie will be fine, I promise ^^  
**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! I welcome any and all feedback, including criticism!  
**

**~Jel  
**


	4. Chapter 4

"Damn, you're pretty chewed up."

"You already said that."

"Really? Huh. Well, it's true." Prussia and the woman he now knew as Hungary had carried him into a secluded little building with white walls and tiled floors, not unlike a hospital. There were only a few doors, and Matthew wondered where they led, but figured he would find out eventually. Everything was very clean, and the whole place smelled like rubbing alcohol. They brought him into a small room with a small bed, a chair, and a window that had an excellent view of the backside of a parking deck. They set him on the cot, and Hungary left to do… something. He wasn't sure what. Everything was happening too quickly.

Prussia pulled up a chair so he was closer to Matthew's injured leg and took a pair of latex gloves seemingly out of nowhere. They made a resounding _snap!_ as the doctor pulled them on. Matthew gulped.

"Now, let's see what we can do here, _ja_?" Prussia smirked and set to work carefully removing the rest of the bandages, revealing the gruesome wound. The smirk fell from his face and was replaced with a frown when he saw the messy, uneven stitches. "Who the hell did this stitching job? It's awful."

"My brother did it. He dug out the bullet and cleaned it, too."

Prussia hummed doubtfully and inspected it further. "I'm gonna redo the stitches 'cause they suck." Hungary entered the room then, pushing a metal cart that carried silver surgical instruments and some other things you would see in an operating room. Prussia took a pair of medical scissors from the cart and snipped at the thread, carefully tugging the stitches out one by one. It stung a lot, but it wasn't unbearable. Finally the last stitch was out and the wound was open once more. Prussia got some rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball and cleaned the area around the exposed flesh.

"Alrighty… You said America got the bullet out, didn't you?"

"You might want to check for fragments." Hungary suggested, and Prussia nodded.

"Yeah. He might have missed some. Pass me the hemostats, stat."

Hungary rolled her eyes, but handed the instrument to him anyway. "Quit sounding like such a doctor. That sounded so stupid."

"I was just trying to make a joke…" he muttered. "You got it, right, Canada?"

"Um… yeah. The stats and stat thing, right?"

"Yeah!" Prussia said enthusiastically. "See? He got it! This kid's pretty awesome, like me!"

"Uh…"

"Ugh, don't encourage him, Canada; he's not that funny…" Hungary grumbled. "You can handle him, right?" she said, and without waiting for an answer, walked out of the room. Prussia sneered at her retreating form.

"She's such a bitch."

"I HEARD THAT!" the woman shouted from outside.

"YOU WERE MEANT TO!" Prussia yelled back, then turned his attention back to Matthew. "What was I talking about again?"

"Um... something about fragmenting?" Matthew offered. Prussia's eyes lit up.

"Oh, yeah! See, bullets have a tendency to fragment on impact, that is, they break apart into smaller pieces. And when that happens, the little pieces can get lodged into your flesh, and if you don't take them out, you could get a nasty infection, and..." Prussia trailed off when he saw Matthew's face pale at the graphic description, and he tried to wrap it up. "Anyway! I swear, it's not as bad as it sounds! Well, actually, it's probably gonna hurt worse than when you got the actual bullet out, since I gotta look around for the damn little pieces..." The words didn't seem to help the situation, and Matthew actually seemed to be more frightened than ever. "... I'm just gonna start now. Oh! Wait, hold on. I forgot something!" Prussia suddenly exclaimed, and he sped out of the room, leaving Matthew staring after him with a hopelessly confused and disturbed expression.

Prussia jogged back into the room, a clean white towel and a bottle of whiskey in hand. He shoved the two objects into Matthew's arms, the injured man looking at the things, perplexed.

"What's this stuff for?" he asked. The silverette was quick to explain.

"Take a few good swigs of that to kind of numb your senses, and you're gonna wanna put _that _in your mouth to bite on during." he said, pointing to the whiskey and towel, respectively. "It makes it easier, I swear."

Matthew stared at the bottle of alcohol, trying to process _why_ exactly he was meant to drink it for a medical procedure, before shrugging his shoulders and unscrewing the cap. Putting the bottle to his lips, he took a few tentative sips until Prussia got impatient.

"No, man, you gotta take a big gulp!" he said, taking the bottle and upending it so that Matthew was forced to take a large mouthful. The stuff tasted awful, and it felt like fire in his mouth with nothing to dilute the alcohol, burning all the way down his throat when he swallowed. He choked a bit at the burn, but his head did feel a little fuzzy… maybe this was what was supposed to happen…

This time Matthew tipped up the bottle of his own accord, taking another large swig until a quarter of the bottle was gone. It still burned on its way down, but he could feel himself getting tipsy already. It felt nice, being so lightheaded. He readied himself to take another gulp, but Prussia stopped him.

"Woah, slow down there, tiger. I don't want you drunk on me. Ya feelin' good?"

Matthew nodded absently, swaying a bit in his bed with a tiny smile on his face.

"Good. Why don't you put that towel in your mouth now? That sound good?"

"Yeah… good..." Matthew giggled in a confused sort of giddiness at the repetition of the word good and did as he was told, putting the towel in his mouth. The whiskey was definitely starting to take full effect. "What now?" he asked, but the words came out muffled, and Prussia chuckled.

"Alright, I think you're good to go." he said, getting the rubbing alcohol once more and preparing to pour it into the wound.

'Heh-heh... Good...' Matthew thought to himself before a burning pain hit his leg. Prussia had just flushed out the injury with the alcohol, and though now it was mostly disinfected, it hurt like _hell._ Matthew tried to yell out in pain, but the towel kept him quiet. Prussia took up the hemostats and dipped them into the alcohol to clean them and wiped them on a cloth.

"I'm gonna be honest, this is liable to be blindingly painful... Anything you wanna say before you start screaming your head off?"

The whiskey didn't let Matthew think clearly enough to take the towel out of his mouth to yell at Prussia to stop, so his words were jumbled and unintelligible. The doctor smirked.

"Nothing at all? Okay then... Let's get this show on the road!" he said, and inserted the scissor-like instrument into the wound.

Matthew lasted exactly two minutes before he passed out from the pain.

* * *

"I told you we should have swiped some anesthetic from the hospital."

"How was I supposed to know he would faint so quickly? Besides, it worked out pretty well in the end. He probably didn't feel a thing after he passed out!"

"Why can't you do anything without mentally scarring somebody for life! You are the worst doctor ever!"

Matthew listened to Prussia and Hungary argue through a semiconscious fog. His leg was numb, and his head pounded. It wasn't the best way to wake up, he thought.

"You shut up! I'm a good doctor!"

"If you were any good, you would have a job at a normal hospital!"

"Lizzy... you know why I can't do that."

...Lizzy?

"If it's because you're a sick, twisted person who shouldn't be allowed to interact with patients, then yes, I know exactly why! You're almost as bad as Russia!"

"Don't you _dare_ compare me to that psychopath. I'm nothing like him! Russia's a ruthless killer! I'm a doctor!"

"What kind of doctor doesn't think of the patient first?"

"He's gonna survive. You do realize that I saved his fucking life, right? What else could he have done? Gone to a hospital where he could be arrested? Stayed at his brother's house where the fragments would have irritated his flesh to the point of infection, leading to a slow and painful death?" Matthew internally shuddered. "He's lucky he's got a doctor at all."

Hungary (or was it Lizzy now?) didn't talk after that, or maybe she just left, but Matthew didn't hear her say anything else. It was silent for some time, and he started to feel himself being dragged back into sleep. He fought unconsciousness for as long as he could, but eventually he let himself go, feeling and hearing nothing as he fell asleep.

Nothing, that is, except for the calloused hand that smoothed over his forehead and the German-accented voice that soothed him, letting him know that he was alright, that there was someone there to take care of him.

* * *

**A/N: Fuuuuck I need to work on Vocaloid and not this...**

**Not much to say about this chapter. I did so much research on home methods for removing bullets. Let's assume that since Alfred is somewhat competent when it comes to taking care of people, he removed the bullet as soon as possible (Matthew probably passed out during that, too) and applied ample pressure to the entrance wound to stop as much bleeding as possible. Matthew probably would have died from blood loss had he gone another few days, if not infection in a week or so due to the remaining fragments.  
**

**Yup. He's a lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky-luck boy.  
**

**Hemostats are like scissors, but with little flat clamps on the end instead of blades. Google it, bitches.  
**

**Here concludes chapter four of a story I really should not be writing. Hope you liked it. Leave a review if you want. Peace.  
**

**~Jel**


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred woke up to the sound of a tea kettle whistling shrilly. The sound pierced his ears, and he rolled over and groaned. It was then that he realized that he wasn't in his usual twin-sized bed. He shot up abruptly and looked around frantically before remembering where he was. He sighed, half due to relief and half to disguise his panicked breathing.

"Oh, you're awake," somebody said nonchalantly behind him. Alfred turned around and saw it was just Arthur, once again holding two mugs. He held one out in offering. "Tea?"

Alfred squinted at the steaming cup in suspicion. "It's not any of that camelia crap, is it?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"It's called chamomile, and no. This is earl gray. Caffeinated. I even put honey in it."

Alfred took the tea and reluctantly had a sip. He guessed it _was_ sweeter... His mind was on other things, though. He looked down at his rumpled clothes. He would have to buy new ones now that he wasn't allowed to go back to his apartment. And what would he do about all the weapons he left behind? He highly doubted that Arthur would let him use anything from his closet arsenal of linens and bullets. Some of his favorite guns were back there...

"Oh, yeah. Your shit's right here."

Alfred snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Arthur, who was pointing to a pile of stuff next to the couch-bed. There sat two large duffel bags and a backpack. Alfred hastily unzipped them to find almost all of his clothes in the duffel bags, and his weapons in the backpack.

"Be grateful. That took me two whole trips."

Alfred realized that the man must have gotten his stuff while he was sleeping. He rummaged through the backpack until his hand rested on the familiar shape of a Ruger P89. He lifted the slightly bulky but faithful semi-automatic pistol from the bag and ran his fingers over it fondly.

"You even got my Ruger... Thanks, man."

Arthur blushed and crossed his arms, snorting indignantly. "As if I'm going to waste money replacing things you already have-" He was interrupted by a cell phone ringing. Arthur groaned in annoyance and reached into his pocket to retrieve a cell phone. He looked at the caller ID, irritation clear in his eyes. "I have to take this..." he grumbled, answering the phone. "What do you want, Prussia?" A rather loud and annoying voice came from the other end of the phone, complaining about something by the sound of it. Arthur frowned deeply. "She _what_? What the bloody hell did you do to make her do that?"

Alfred was... confused to say the least. Who was this "Prussia" person, and what had he said to make Arthur so angry? He felt the conversation was probably meant to be private, but he listened anyway.

"Can't you get her to come back? ...No?" Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation. "What am I going to do with you... All right, try and take care of it by yourself for now. I was bringing America over today anyway. Yes. We're leaving right now. Right. Right. _Yes_. I'm hanging up now!" Arthur yanked the phone down from his ear and threw it down on the bed. "_Bollocks_, that moron..."

"Um..."

"That was your brother's doctor. We're going to check up on them. Get a fresh outfit on and meet me in the alley," Arthur commanded, and went to the window.

"We're going to see Mattie?"

"Yes. Now hurry up, will you?" And with that, Arthur stooped out the window. Alfred excitedly put on some clean clothes and joined Arthur outside. It had barely been twelve hours apart, and already Alfred was worried sick about his brother. He blamed his worry on the fact that he had practically been kidnapped, and was currently hanging around a rather shady character he knew next to nothing about. It was okay since he had a doctor now, right? This man wasn't _really_ a moron… was he?

The pair turned right out of the alley, blending in seamlessly with the crowd of ten 'o' clock commuters. Arthur led him through the maze of streets, finally coming to a quieter part of town full of older structures. Buildings, big and small, all either abandoned or simply unkempt, stood dull and gray around them, the complete opposite of the bustling and bright shops of the main streets. They passed a barely used parking deck and stopped in front of what might have been a medical clinic at some point. There was a sign over the door with a blue cross, and words too faded to make out anymore. Alfred looked questioningly. Surely _this_ wasn't where his brother was being treated.

"Why is it that every place you take me to looks super-suspicious?" Arthur shrugged.

"What excuse do you want? 'Flashy buildings would give us away?' 'We can't afford anything else?' 'I'm a cheapskate when it comes to living conditions?'" He paused. "... Actually, two of those are true. But we're not here to become famous or legendary. Just doing our job."

"What's with this 'we' business? I thought it was just you?" Alfred asked. Arthur ignored him and started towards the building, knocking on the door in some sort of pattern when they got there. While they waited for it to open, Arthur looked to Alfred.

"Two rules: Don't take anything this man says seriously, and you are to call me 'Britain' while in his presence. Are we clear?" Alfred's breath caught and he paled as he shakily nodded. _Britain?_ As in, _the_ Britain? One of the most well-known yet stealthily untraceable professional assassins in New York? _That_ Britain? The surprise felt like a punch to the gut. This man was practically Alfred's idol, the reason he named himself America, and now he knew him so intimately in comparison to the rest of the world. He knew him by his name, not by his alias, and now the master was going to teach _him_, of all people! Alfred could only imagine what made him so special. He mentally slapped himself for being so reluctant to go with Arthur that first night. If only he'd know who this man really was, he would have agreed in a heartbeat. He wanted to yell at the man for not telling him sooner, but right as he opened his mouth, the door opened, revealing a white-haired man with red eyes and a lopsided smirk on his face.

"Yo, Britain," the man said without actually looking at Arthur. He was too focused on Alfred. "This America?"

"Yes. We're here to check up on Canada since the... incident." Arthur walked in past the odd man, motioning for Alfred to follow. "What did you say to make her quit?" he asked. The odd man he assumed to be Prussia finally looked at Arthur and scoffed.

"Hell, I don't know! It was just a stupid argument. We have 'em all the time. You'd think she'd be used to it after working with me for so long, but I guess not. She just couldn't handle the awesome, I bet!" The man let out a strange laugh and closed the door behind them. "But this Canada kid is cool. You know he didn't even cry when I cleaned up the frags from his leg? Kid's a badass, I'm telling you."

"Right…" Arthur muttered. "America, you visit with your brother. I need to discuss something with Prussia here."

"O-okay." Alfred nodded and looked around at the different doors. "Where is he?" Prussia pointed at a door.

"In there. But don't wake him up. He needs his rest."

"Got it," Alfred said noncommittally before rushing to the room where his brother was, and being surprised at what he saw.

Matthew lay asleep on an uncomfortable-looking cot with his mouth hanging open slightly. He wasn't hooked up to any machines or medicine or other things of that sort, which was a bit calming and nerve-wracking at the same time. He didn't think he would be able to handle looking at his little brother plugged into life support or monitors. The sheet on top of him hid his injury from view, which Alfred was grateful for. Overall, he looked pretty good for someone who had a bullet in his leg not three days before. What was more, he slept more peacefully than he had under Alfred's care. His face showed no signs of pain or suffering, and his breathing was even. It made Alfred happy (and definitely not jealous) that this Prussia person could make his brother look so healthy in just a matter of hours.

It was really just a huge relief to see that he was okay. At first glance, Prussia didn't seem like the kind of person that could handle medicine, but judging by the condition of his brother, he decided to trust the guy. Besides, he really couldn't afford to be picky at the moment. He sat down in the chair that was next to the bed and watched Matthew's chest rise and fall slowly with his breathing. He heard voices being raised in the other room, but he wasn't interested in that. Matthew was okay, and that fact commanded his total attention.

"America."

Alfred jumped slightly at Arthur's voice and turned around to see him standing in the doorway with a rigid expression planted on his face.

"Yeah?"

"Time to go. I have a mission for you."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Exams were a bitch, yadda yadda.**

**So... do we have any guesses as to what will happen in the next chapter? I want to know what you guys are predicting so that I can write the exact opposite of what you think will happen :D**

**Thanks to those of you who reviewed and subscribed and faved! It means a lot ^^**

**Please leave a review, even if it's just a short little thing :)**

**~Jel**


	6. Chapter 6

Matthew had never been the most graceful person when it came to first waking up in the morning. He didn't elegantly stretch his arms over his head or yawn cutely with sleepy eyes because he wasn't a fucking girl. That didn't mean that he wouldn't like to wake up like that sometimes, though. Most mornings found him rolled over into some unfathomable position on his brother's couch (or floor) with the worst cramp in his arm, shoulder, back, etcetera. He also tended to sleep with his mouth gaping open, leaving his tongue and mouth unpleasantly dry and leathery-feeling. Plus there was always the noise of morning traffic, and… well, you get the picture.

It was because of this usual occurrence that he was confused when he gently woke up in a normal, horizontal, and quite comfortable position for once. His right leg felt heavy and numb, and he'd been sleeping with his mouth open again, but it was better than the pain he'd woken up to over the past few days. He fumbled around blindly and remembered that he was on a bed, not a couch, because… because… huh. He couldn't remember why. He opened bleary eyes and tried to make sense of his surroundings. The walls were plain white, as were the sheets, and out that window was a parking structure…

_Oh, that's right,_ he remembered, looking to his left and putting on his glasses and gulping down half of a cup of water he'd found on the bedside table. _Hungary and that Prussia guy brought me here._ He lifted the sheets and chuckled when he found himself in a set of blue pajamas with little yellow chicks on it. At least it seemed that his leg was nicely bandaged for once. He was considering actually trying to stand up and walk around when Prussia appeared at the door with a smirk on his face and a clipboard in his hand.

"Nice of you to join the world of the living. Have a nice nap?"

"Actually, yeah," Matthew said, ignoring the smirk and taking a sip of water. "How long have I been out?"

Prussia held up the clipboard as if he was reading off of it. "Oh, about a week. Maybe more." Matthew spluttered into his cup just as he took a drink, and Prussia snickered. "Just kidding. It's only been a little over twelve hours. It's not like I gave you sedative or anything."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Because whiskey does a much better job, doesn't it?" he remarked, thinking back on that dreadful and painful experience. Why the hell hadn't he questioned the "doctor's" ridiculous reasoning before? "That seemed like a very unprofessional thing for you to do," he chided quietly. Prussia frowned.

"Don't you start going on about that! I got enough crap from Hungary," he snapped. "Anesthetic is hard to get a hold of, okay? You're fine now, and that's what matters, right?"

Matthew decided to let it go. He _was_ grateful that Prussia seemed to have done a good job, regardless of how. He was reminded, though, of who wasn't in the room with them. "Hey… where _is_ Hungary, anyway?" he asked innocently.

"In between Austria and Romania— oh, you meant the bitch!" The doctor laughed at his own little joke and continued. "She quit. I was clearly too awesome for her, so she just walked out. Pretty stupid thing to do, though, if you ask me."

Matthew didn't know what Prussia meant by that, but he didn't like the sound of it… "Why was it stupid?"

The doctor spun the clipboard around in his hands absently and shrugged. "Well, it's not like she can just _leave._ Just like that? No, too dangerous for us. So we're gonna get someone to take care of her."

Matthew internally flinched and nervously looked down at his cup. "Us? Take care… you mean…?" Prussia nodded.

"Yeah. She knows way too much. It's one of those things that… uh… 'Once you're in, you can't get out?' Yeah, that's it. Britain's probably gonna let America do that, though."

For the second time that day, Matthew spluttered in absolute shock. He almost expected Prussia to start laughing and tell him he was joking again, but he seemed to be completely serious this time. "Britain? _The _Britain?" he gasped. "But… what does he… that means you—!"

"Yeah. I'm part of Contact."

There was a long silence. Neither Matthew nor Prussia moved, and the tension in the room increased. His head swam in confusion, and a hard lump of cold fear settled in the pit of his stomach. It was too much. He tried to grasp at rational thoughts, but his mind just wouldn't let him. All he could think was that he was in the same room as a member of one of the most feared organization of contact killers on the east coast. An organization that he'd worked hard to stay far out of the way of. And now, look where he was! There was no doubt in his mind that this was all Alfred's fault somehow.

How deep was he? How involved had Alfred gotten? What deals had he made with these guys to get him well again? Matthew finally moved, slowly lowering his head into his hands. He didn't want to accept that this was happening, that he was in the most danger he'd ever been in his whole life. How could Alfred have done this to him? Now that he knew about them… would they ever let him go? What did they expect from him to pay them back? He gripped at his hair, just to clench his fingers around something. It was so infuriating, to fall into a situation like this without having any power to stop it. He didn't want to be involved in Contact! He wanted nothing to do with any of this! His brother, the assassinations, the weapons, the pain, none of it had been his choice! Why couldn't he just live his own fucking life?

"Hey…" he heard Prussia start, but Matthew shook his head and otherwise ignored him. The doctor reached out and tried to take one of Matthew's hands, but Matthew just flinched and jerked his hand away.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped. Prussia looked surprised at his sudden outburst, but it didn't deter him.

"Come on, Canada, don't be like that. I helped you out, right?"

"My name is not Canada."

Prussia sighed. "I know it's not, but it's just for your—"

"Protection," Matthew finished for him. "Yeah, I've heard it a million times before. Protection from people after my brother. People I've never even met or heard of, but they'd like to kidnap me or hurt me or kill me just to get to America. Do you think that I wanted to be sucked into all this?"

"Of course not. Nobody did," Prussia said, at least trying to calm him down. He tried to touch Matthew's hand again, and this time he let him. "Nobody wants to end up in these situations. I know it sucks, but you just gotta deal with it sometimes. Don't blame your brother, okay? I know he's kind of a dumbass, and this is sort of his fault, and he probably could've done a better job taking care of you when you got shot…" Prussia paused and thought for a second. "Actually, you can blame him. He's a moron."

Matthew managed to laugh at that. "Yeah, he really is."

Prussia beamed. "There we go! Cheer up! Nobody can stay all grumpy when they're in awesome pajamas like those!" he said, gesturing to the "awesome" chick-covered outfit. Matthew had to admit, it was pretty hard not to laugh at them.

"You're right," he agreed. "Just… don't start calling me something stupid because I'm wearing these, okay?"

"What, like Birdie?"

"Exactly."

Prussia smirked, and in that moment, Matthew felt like the stupidest person on the face of the Earth.

"Okay, Birdie. I'll be sure not to call you Birdie or other annoying names like Birdie, Birdie, Birdie, or Birdie, because Birdie is definitely _not_ what I'm going to call you from now on. Right, Birdie?" he taunted. Matthew fell back onto his pillow in defeat.

"Fuck."

Prussia cackled at Matthew's expense. "Kesesese! Hey, you brought this upon yourself!" He kept laughing loudly, and Matthew started to feel a headache coming on.

"Okay, okay, that was my fault," Matthew said, wincing. "Ow. My head hurts."

"I'll grab you some painkillers," Prussia said immediately, leaving the room and quickly coming back with a bottle of pills and a new cup of water. He gave the items to Matthew and instructed him to take two of the pills. "Those should kick in in half an hour or so, Birdie."

"Are you actually going to keep calling me Birdie?" Matthew asked as he swallowed the pills. Prussia shrugged.

"I think it's better than Canada. Don't you?"

Matthew couldn't argue with that. He hated that name Canada. The name was a constant reminder that he would never be safe enough to say who he really was. Even Birdie, which was a ridiculously annoying and stupid pet-name, was nicer than what he'd been going by for the past few years.

"Yeah. It's good." Matthew chugged down the rest of the water and gave the cup back to Prussia. "So, how long will it take for this thing to heal?" he asked, pointing in the general direction of the bullet wound. The doctor hummed as he thought.

"Well… There was quite a bit of damage to the nerves and tissue surrounding the entrance, but luckily it didn't hit any bone. I'd say about eight months to a year for it to completely heal, and even after that you might have lasting trouble with it. You should be able to move around in a few days. After that, I'll get you started on physical therapy. Sound good?"

"Sure. It's not like I know any better," Matthew mumbled. "It'll really take that long?"

"Afraid so. That won't be a problem, though, will it?"

A problem? Could eight months without having to deal with the daily struggles of being the lackey of a hit man be considered a problem? It actually seemed like a drastic improvement. Perhaps getting shot had been the best thing that had ever happened to him if it meant not having to be the target of countless enemies of his brother!

"No," he said, a little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "It's not a problem at all."

* * *

_A/N: I've decided to start doing the author's note in italics. I hope that doesn't throw anyone off too bad._

_OK, chapter six is done! Sorry for the wait, but I've been working on a rather lengthy oneshot on the side. Plus my summer break has been more busy than I really wanted, but oh well. I have to go to a camp next week, so I wanted to be sure I posted this chapter before leaving. This is probably why the ending feels rushed. *shrugs* What're you gonna do?_

_As always, thanks to the lovely people who reviewed last chapter. Please leave a review and criticize my work! I can't stress that enough!_

_~Jel_


	7. Chapter 7

"But _Arthur!_" Alfred complained for the umpteenth time as he geared up for his mission. "That's way too easy! I thought you were giving me someone important!"

Arthur scowled and handed Alfred a cell phone. "Just because she's a doctor _doesn't_ mean she's not important. She has vital information that can't be leaked to the outside. If she told the right person about us, it could be our undoing," he said. He pointed at the phone. "That phone is programmed with a number. It's speed dial number one. When you've taken care of her, call it. State the body's location, then head back. I've got somebody who will dispose of it for us."

Alfred rolled his eyes and shoved the phone in his pocket. "You mean you don't get rid of your own bodies? Lame."

"It's faster and keeps your hands clean," he scowled. "Don't question me. Be back by morning. Now move."

Alfred grumbled but followed orders, crawling through the window and down the fire escape. This was not how he'd intended his first mission to go.

His first disappointment, of course, was that his target was a woman. Her name was Elizabeta Héderváry, formerly known as Hungary. His second disappointment was that she hadn't even been part of the killers of Contact. She was just a plain old doctor, and easily replaceable as far as Alfred was concerned.

In the back of his mind, though, he knew full well why she had to be killed. It was just as Arthur said; she knew too much. Even the disclosure of Prussia's location in his makeshift hospital could be fatal. Alfred's only question, though, was very unsettling.

Who was a threat to Contact? Which organization could possibly be that dangerous?

* * *

"Elizabeta Héderváry."

A long-haired brunette in street clothes stopped in the middle of the alley. Slowly, she turned around, and, to Alfred's surprise, smiled.

"America! What a pleasant surprise! I don't think we've met yet!" She took a small step backwards. Subtle, but not subtle enough. Alfred took a larger step towards her. "What are you doing out this late, deary? Here to ask me about Canada? You could have just waited until morning—"

Alfred drew his pistol and aimed it between the woman's eyes. Elizabeta stopped talking immediately and frowned.

"Cut the shit, Héderváry," Alfred commanded. "You know why I'm here."

Elizabeta's eyes hardened, and her frown deepened. Then, once again surprising Alfred, she chuckled.

"It's too late for that, dear!" she laughed. "I've already told them everything I know!"

Alfred's heart skipped a beat, and fear shot through his body for a split second. He didn't let it show, though, and he took another step forward.

"Who?" he asked, keeping his voice even and threatening. "Who did you tell?"

Elizabeta smirked. "You think I would tell you outright? They paid me a pretty price to keep quiet about it, you know?" She looked straight at Alfred, and then at the gun. "However, considering my position, I guess I could give you a hint..."

She took another step backwards, not bothering to be sneaky anymore. "'He's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma,'" she said. "Winston Churchill said that, and to be honest, I couldn't agree more." She smiled again. "He's quite an interesting character. I think you'd get along with him. Switching sides is allowed, you know."

Alfred frowned and prepared to squeeze the trigger. "Is that all you have to tell me?"

Elizabeta hummed as if she was thinking. "Oh, no, not yet. Can you relay a message for me?" She didn't wait for Alfred to agree before continuing. "Tell Prussia he's a _seggfej_ for me, okay?"

"I might," Alfred said. It would be the honorable thing to do. To carry out a dying woman's last wishes. But this business had nothing to do with honor.

He pulled the trigger. The bullet left the gun with a loud bang. Elizabeta collapsed, the wound between her eyes beginning to bleed. Alfred dialed the number.

"Disposal," said the voice on the other end of the line.

"9264, Mockingbird Lane."

"'kay."

Alfred hung up and walked out of the alley, leaving behind the bleeding body.

* * *

"How did it go?"

Alfred didn't say anything as he placed his gun on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Arthur with a sigh. "I killed her."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I could gather that much. But what's troubling you? Please don't tell me you're feeling guilty about it."

"No, that's not it," Alfred said. "It's what she said right before I shot her. She said that she already told them everything she knew, but I don't know who 'them' is." Alfred paused to gauge Arthur's reaction. His expression was unreadable, so he continued. "She gave me some sort of hint. She said that 'he is a riddle wrapped in a mystery in an enigma,' or something like that. Said that Winston Churchill said that." Alfred saw now that Arthur was holding his breath. "What does it mean?"

Arthur let out the breath he'd been holding. "That bitch..." Arthur growled. He whipped out his phone and dialed a number. It only rang once before somebody picked up.

"_Pronto,_" the voice on the other end said.

"Italy," Arthur barked into the receiver. "Contact all members and tell them to arm themselves with everything they have. There's been a major security breech. Hungary told Russia everything. Check on Prussia first and make sure he's okay. That is all."

"_Si_! Got it!"

Arthur hung up the phone and got up from the couch to open the linen closet. He retrieved a pistol of the same caliber that Alfred had used to take care of Elizabeta, and slipped some extra ammo into his pocket.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked. "What's going on? Who's Russia?"

Arthur didn't answer. "Get your weapon. We're going to Prussia's place."

Alfred didn't question Arthur as they climbed down the fire escape.

Something big had happened. Alfred just didn't know what.

* * *

_A/N: Seggfej=Asshole  
Pronto=Hello  
Si=Yes (duh)_

_Hi! Long time no update! /shot_

_I'm so sorry this chapter has taken so long. I got distracted with the 100 Theme Challenge._

_And now we have CONFLICT! Yay~! Not much to say about this chapter._

_Please leave a comment or constructive criticism in a review! Flames will be used to heat Russia's house~_

_~Jel_


	8. Chapter 8

Matthew woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a commotion. It was coming from the front door of the building, and consisted of loud shouting and banging. There was a thump, and Matthew heard footsteps get closer to his door. He jumped as somebody kicked in the door.

"Ah, here he is!" a man's heavily accented voice sang out. The man turned on the light switch, revealing his appearance. He was tall, with platinum blond hair, and he wore a long coat and scarf. He held a thick lead pipe in his right hand, and Matthew swallowed as he saw that it was decorated with dark red stains. The man smiled. "It is time to be going, now!"

Matthew was speechless. Who was this guy? What was he doing here so late at night? Why the hell did he kick in his door? What was that thump? And where was Prussia?

Why was this man smiling like a small child who had just found a jar of cookies on a high shelf?

"Why are you not getting up?" the man asked with a tilt of his head. "Are you hurt?"

"Um..." Matthew didn't know what to say. "Yes?"

The man nodded as if he understood now. "Oh! I see! Then I will help you!"

Before Matthew could react, the man picked him up as if he weighed nothing, and carried him through the door into the main room. His blood ran cold.

Prussia's unconscious form was slumped against the wall next to the open front door, blood trickling from his head.

It was then that Matthew knew that whoever this man was, he wasn't on their side.

Matthew tried to struggle free of the man's hold. "LET ME GO!" he yelled. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

The man only tightened his grip around Matthew and carried him through the door. "But I cannot let you go! If I let you go you will fall on the ground, and then you will try to get away," he explained simply. "And I do not want you to get away, because then my plan would not work anymore!"

"Who are you?" Matthew repeated. The man placed him in the passenger seat of a car that was waiting on the street outside and closed the door. Then he got in the driver's seat and started driving.

"My friends call me Russia! You can call me that, too, since I'm sure we'll become good friends, _da?_" the man said. "Do not worry! I will not hurt you unless I need to! I am only using you so that I may capture America!"

Matthew was very much near tears, both from anger at Alfred, and because of the sheer hopelessness of his situation. Here he was getting kidnapped because Alfred wanted to be a fucking hero. Moreover, he couldn't even escape. If he were to open the car door and roll out, how far would he get with his leg the way it was? Who would help him? Prussia was unconscious, and Alfred was off doing whatever it was he did to save the city from "bad guys," even though he was one of those bad guys himself.

None of this had been his choice, and he knew that in the end of this, someone would be dead.

It might even be himself.

* * *

_A/N: Da=yes_

_Yes, this is the shortest chapter yet, but it's a crucial point! Next chapter will (probably) be longer._

_And OHSHIT Canada got kidnapped. Who will save him? Or maybe he'll man up and save himself? (yeah right)_

_Please leave constructive criticism in a review! Flames will be used to heat Russia's house~!_

_~Jel_


	9. Chapter 9

When Alfred and Arthur arrived at Prussia's hospital, the door was wide open. The hinges had been broken, and now the door was only half hanging on to the frame. Just inside the door was Prussia on the floor, not moving. He had a gash on the side of his head with blood steadily flowing out, staining his white hair red.

"You look for Canada," Arthur instructed. "I'll take care of Prussia."

Alfred did as he was told and searched the small building. Every nook and cranny was void of any life. Matthew's room was empty, the sheets on the cot thrown back carelessly. There was a little slip of paper with writing on it sitting on the table next to the cot. He took it and ran back into the main room to tell Arthur, who had managed to wake up Prussia.

"I can't find him. He's gone," Alfred reported. Prussia was just conscious enough to make out what Alfred had said, and tried to get up. Arthur pushed him back down.

"What? No!" Prussia mumbled. "He took him! We gotta find him! Get him back!"

"Who took him, Prussia?" Arthur asked. "What was his name?"

"Russia! That bastard! Broke in and hit me with that pipe of his. Hit me and ran off with Birdie!" Gilbert started yelling. "Birdie's _gone_! And I didn't... I couldn't... Fuck!"

"Who's Birdie?" Alfred asked.

"I think he's referring to your brother," Arthur supplied.

"What can I do?"

"Right now, nothing," Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms and looking around the room. "Did you see a note when you were searching the premises?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, showing him the slip of paper. There were foreign characters written on it that Alfred didn't understand. "There's an address with it, but the rest is written in a different language. I can't tell what it says."

"It's in Russian," Arthur informed him. "I can't read it, but I have somebody who can translate for us. Chances are it's the ransom." Arthur pocketed the note and got up. "Stay here and hold down the fort, got it?" He directed his words towards Prussia. "You did all you could. Don't blame yourself for this."

Prussia nodded, but didn't speak. Arthur sighed.

"All right, then. Come on, America."

"Where are we going?"

"I have some people you still need to meet. Four people, actually. They'll be able to help with this."

* * *

The pair only had to walk a block down the street to find who they were looking for. A run-down warehouse stood discreetly between two larger, more noticeable buildings. It was easy to overlook, Alfred thought. A good thing when you don't want to be found.

Arthur led Alfred into the warehouse, calling out into the wide, seemingly-empty space.

"Italy, Romano, Spain, and Germany. Front and center!"

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, four men walked into the room. The first to speak was a rather short man (though not as short as Arthur) with strange amber eyes and auburn hair with a single wayward curl sticking out on one side. Alfred had the urge to go over and smooth it down or something, but resisted and stayed still.

"Hi, Britain!" he greeted with a cheerful smile. His eyes wandered to Alfred. "Is this the new guy? America?"

Arthur nodded, and then turned his attention to Alfred. "America, this is our polyglot and head of communications, Italy Veneziano. He'll be able to translate the ransom note for us." Italy's smile grew.

"That's right!" he said cheerfully. The man standing next to him frowned. He looked almost identical to Italy, save for the fact that his hair was a darker shade of brown, and his eyes were more of a hazel color than amber. Could they be related...?

"Quit being so optimistic, idiot. He just said _ransom_ note. As in, someone's been kidnapped. Not a good thing."

"That's Italy Romano, Veneziano's brother," Arthur said in an aside to Alfred as Romano continues "He works with Veneziano in communications. Don't get offended by anything he says. He doesn't mean it."

Alfred nodded and turned his attention back to the group in front of him.

"Oh, Roma, don't be so mean to your brother!" another man, this one with dark curly hair, green eyes, and tan skin. "He's just trying to be positive."

"That's Spain," Arthur piped in. "He works in transportations."

"Whatever, bastard. He doesn't know when to be serious..."

All this time, a fourth man stood quietly off to the side, obviously not wanting to get involved in the bickering. He was tall, with blond hair slicked back into a neat style, and hard blue eyes.

"And that is Germany. He's our weapons expert."

Upon hearing his name, Germany looked to Arthur and Alfred and nodded.

"I can be serious!" Veneziano said. "Let me see the note! I'll translate it for you!"

Arthur handed the note to Veneziano, who began reading.

_"Hello, Britain. How are you? I hope you are doing well. I am good. I left this note next to where Canada used to be, but he is not there anymore. He is with me now. Does America miss him? I understand that America killed one of my agents. You thought that Hungary was on your side, but she was working for me the entire time. Funny how that works out! It is okay, though, because before you killed her, she told me a lot of things._

_Anyway, I wanted you to know that I will not hurt Canada unless I want to. America will see him alive again if he joins my side. I think he would be useful to me. If he does not join me, then he will still get to see his brother, but only in little pieces._

_Included is an address where you can meet me to make the deal. I hope you reply quickly! Canada's leg is hurt, and I do not happen to have a doctor with me._

_Love,_

_Russia"_

The vast room was silent for a while as all eyes went to Alfred. Veneziano gave the note back to Arthur, but the Brit only clenched the paper in his hand. He spoke:

"Nobody is allowed to seek out Canada. Do I make myself clear?"

"But Britain—!"

"Nobody!" he snapped, turning on America. "I've lost far too many men to the likes of Russia. He won't keep his word. If you go, you will die, America. Do you understand that?"

Alfred didn't say anything. Arthur harshly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close.

"Do you?!"

"Yes."

"Yes, _what?_"

"Yes, _sir._"

Arthur released him and stepped away, fuming. "Veneziano, thank you for translating the note. You four are dismissed."

Germany left immediately, Veneziano close behind him. Romano took a moment to scowl before he walked away as well. Spain gave Alfred a pitying look, and soon the only ones left in the room were Alfred and Arthur. Arthur turned towards the exit and started walking.

"Come on. We're leaving."

He said it with such a sullen yet commanding tone. He thought his apprentice would follow like a trained dog, as if what he had just ordered hadn't ripped Alfred's very being in two. As if Matthew's torture and death was simply another bump in the road. As if Alfred would show no resistance, as if he wouldn't fight it.

But Alfred did follow. He followed with the memory of the exact address from the note fresh in his mind.

* * *

Late that night, Alfred was dressed in dark clothes. In his old pack were two sets of shirts and pants as well as two guns with several boxes of ammunition. He checked to make sure that Arthur was still asleep on the couch bed before making his way towards the window. He opened it halfway, but someone spoke, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"You memorized the address, didn't you."

Alfred swallowed. So he was awake. He should have figured as much. Alfred didn't turn around, though.

"Yes."

"You're going to meet Russia. You're joining his side."

"Are you going to stop me?"

There was a pause. "No. No, I suppose not." Sheets rustled, and Alfred knew that Arthur was sitting up. "I have some advice for you. A warning, if you will."

"Shoot."

"Did you ever consider that maybe – just maybe – you won't be working for the good guys if you switch over? Not that either of us are good, that is." The floor creaked as Arthur stood up and crept behind Alfred. "This isn't a comic, Jones. Heroes are hard to discern from villains. Nothing is that black and white."

Alfred licked his dry lips. "I know the difference," he said. "I know what I'm doing. I've made my decision. My brother is more important right now."

Alfred could practically feel Arthur lift an eyebrow in doubt. "You're sure? You don't see another option? You'd rather play hero and try to save Matthew rather than protect yourself? You actually think this is a good idea?"

"He's my brother," Alfred said quietly. "I need to do something. He's all I have, Arthur; don't you get it? Please tell me you understand. If you were to wake up tomorrow morning and all of Contact was dead besides you, wouldn't you feel empty?"

Arthur didn't say anything.

"I know you would. You'd have nothing left. Just like me." Alfred took a step forward. "Let me do this. I'll make the deal, get Matthew, and find a way back. I might even kill Russia for ya. I know I can do it."

Arthur sighed. Alfred heard him turn around and sit back down on the couch bed. "You really think whatever plan you have will work?"

"I know it will."

"We'll see," Arthur mumbled, almost too quietly for Alfred to hear, but it was there. "Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"… Don't die. Good luck."

And then Alfred was gone through the window and down the ladder, leaving behind Arthur who held his head in his hands.

"What have I done…?"

* * *

_A/N: Alfred you fucking moron just listen to Arthur for once. FOR ONCE. Now we have conflict and people will die and just ugh._

_Sorry for the long wait. I understand if you guys were getting impatient, and I apologize._

_In other news, I've been drawing fan art for this universe for some reason._

_Please leave some constructive criticism or maybe comments or questions in a review. They motivate me to write further :)_

_~Jel_


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